


Homecoming

by LunaFromBakerStreet



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Childhood Memories, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Smut, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaFromBakerStreet/pseuds/LunaFromBakerStreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been alone for so long that his parents are happy to assume John is his boyfriend. Invitation for Christmas comes out of nowhere, so Sherlock ends up asking John to play along. And John agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittensAndRage (cumberlove4ever)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=KittensAndRage+%28cumberlove4ever%29).
  * A translation of [Powrót do domu](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728572) by [LunaFromBakerStreet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaFromBakerStreet/pseuds/LunaFromBakerStreet). 



> This fic was written in Polish by me and translated into English by [KittensAndRage](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KittensAndRage/pseuds/KittensAndRage). Neither of us is a native speaker of English so if you find any mistakes, let me know.
> 
> Wersja polska [tutaj](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4728572/chapters/10805609).

Heading up the stairs, John was thinking only about collapsing onto his bed and laying there for an hour or two. He was exhausted. Last night he hadn’t slept much, because he and Sherlock had been watching surveillance videos that weren’t useful for the case after all, and there were crowds at the surgery all day, as usually before Christmas. Everyone wants to get prescriptions, and everyone’s in a hurry, in addiction thinking that they are most important. As if he or anyone else had nothing to do in the middle of December. And it was the flu season. Just because the work was dull didn’t mean it wasn’t tiring. John wanted to forget all the crying kids and quarrels in the waiting room as soon as possible. All he wanted now was silence and a nice nap.

But, as it’s commonly known, the universe is a lot of things but decidedly _not_ nice. If you really want something, there’ll always happen something that destroys your plans. So it was this time. When John opened the door to the flat, he noticed that Sherlock wasn’t alone.

“Good afternoon.” John smiled kindly. An elderly couple sat on their couch. It was easy to assume that they were clients, even though they usually didn’t come in pairs. At that moment John really couldn’t care less, and he would probably just nod at them and go into the kitchen for something to drink, if not for the fact that the strangers stood up and came up to him.

“You must be John!” The woman spoke first. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you! Our son told us so much about you!”

John tried to maintain a friendly look on his face, but as the corners of his lips remained lifted, his eyebrows furrowed minutely.

“You’re Sherlock’s parents?”

“I’m Miranda, and that’s my husband, Scott. You can call us by our names, sweetie.” She grabbed his hand in her both hands, just like almost every elderly lady does. John attempted at hiding his surprise – he really didn’t expect he’d meet them so suddenly – and, even though he wasn’t a good actor, it seemed that he succeeded. He looked up to meet his flatmate’s eyes and saw that Sherlock was paler than usual. And terrified. He felt just as uncomfortable as John did, apparently. Or more.

“I hope that you’ll come to us for Christmas, no matter what Sherlock says. The rest of the family wants to know our son’s partner very much.”

John blinked. Surely he didn’t hear that correctly?

“But we’re not-“

“-we’re not doing anything else, of course we’ll come.” Sherlock opened his mouth for the first time since John entered the flat. Clearly he woke up from his lethargy and decided to act. John just wasn’t sure what Sherlock wanted to achieve, and he didn’t understand any of what was happening. He parted his lips to say something and explain everything, but Sherlock didn’t let him make a sound. He came to him and put his arm on John’s waist, and John shivered. He wanted to punch his friend in the face but decided not to do that, hoping that it was another weird thing “for a case” and that Sherlock will tell him what’s going on soon.

Miranda smiled at John.

“You have a good influence on him,” she said. “We don’t want to interrupt you. We have some errands to run in London.” She and her husband headed to the door, and Sherlock was right behind them, as if to ensure that they were leaving.

“Oh, right, don’t forget about-“

“Yes, yes, I remember, bye!” Sherlock slammed the door and leaned against it, exhaling loudly. John waited a bit, hoping for explanation, but Sherlock wasn’t even looking at him, so he decided to speak up.

“Do they…”

“Think that we’re a couple? Yes, they do.” So Sherlock was more alert than he looked. And he appeared to be really nervous, even though it should be John who was nervous here.

“Why?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Mycroft, our photos in the papers, the fact that we’re both bachelors and living together, your blog: pick one!”

John didn’t really understand.

“And what does my blog have to do with that?”

“Oh, _please_.” Sherlock wasn’t going to explain. He’d bet that if not for the blog entries, they wouldn’t be seen as lovers. At least not by so many people.

“Okay…” John nodded slowly, trying to get himself together. For Sherlock it all made sense, for him – not so much. After a year of living together someone would say he could have got used to it, but it wasn’t really working. “But why didn’t you just tell them that they’re wrong?”

Sherlock was quiet for a bit.

“If you had been home a few minutes earlier, you wouldn’t have told them as well.” He sighed and collapsed on the couch, hiding his face in his hands. It was probably the first time John saw him so upset.

“Mycroft’s wife wants a divorce, and he’s not going to do anything about it. Our parents are devastated. My so called “happiness” is distracting them.”

John leaned against the desk and looked at Sherlock in disbelief and amusement at the same time. What he was saying was ludicrous.

“Are you trying to tell me that you pretending to be in a relationship with me to protect your brother?”

“Argh, John, it’s not about Mycroft!” Sherlock despised explaining, unless it was connected to his showing off. Even John managed to notice that, despite his powers of observation being rather… not good. “It’s about my parents. I didn’t make up this whole story about us. They just strode in, hoping to meet my _boyfriend_ ,” that words seemed to be forcefully ripped out of his throat. He inhaled deeply. He didn’t want to raise his voice, considering that he was about to ask of John a very big favour. “John, I want you to come with me to them for Christmas.”

John was quiet for a long while. He just stared at him, digesting everything he knew. His friend and flatmate, Sherlock Holmes, arrogant prick who cared about no one and nothing in this world, especially about good relations with his family, wanted to make his parents happy and help his brother by pretending to be in a gay relationship. That was the most ridiculous thing John had ever heard.

“Please, tell me you’re joking.”

Silence. Sherlock didn’t say anything, he just waited for the answer.

“Sherlock, that’s-“

“Please, John.”

His tone made John look him in the eyes. It was important for him, and John couldn’t come up with logical arguments to decline. And only logic mattered to Sherlock. What could go wrong? They’d just make a few people happy. No one would ever know. John’s pride wouldn’t be harmed, and even if he said it would, he would come off as a homophobe, which he wasn’t. He bit his lip, thinking about his answer. The silence seemed to weigh them both.

“Forget it.” Sherlock looked away from him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. We don’t have to talk about it again, I promise.” He leapt to his feet and made a beeline for the kitchen, pretending he had something to do, but it was apparent that he just wanted to escape. When he got there, he didn’t even know if he should make tea or sit behind his microscope. John felt bad. The longer he thought about it, the more he felt like an arse. Had Sherlock ever asked him for anything? Yes, he did demand things sometimes without looking at John, but even then John never declined. How could he do that now, when Sherlock asked, and it was important to him?

“Sherlock… wait…” He came closer to him. “If… if we play it right, we could pull it off, I think.” He didn’t believe he’d said it. “But we can’t… no long term. One holidays, that’s it. Then you’ll have to tell them we… broke up or whatever.” It was hard to talk about it. They both knew it wasn’t real and yet it just made it weirder to talk about. Sherlock smiled and nodded.

“Thank you, John.” He leaned in and kissed John’s forehead before John knew what was going on. He didn’t know how to react and Sherlock noticed his embarrassment.

“If we’re to pretend, we have to practice. Such things have to be natural.”

John didn’t want to know what else his “boyfriend” wanted them to practice.


	2. Chapter 2

Since the incident John could barely focus on anything. He was really thankful Sherlock’s parents didn’t live in the city; it meant that what happened there would stay there. He wouldn’t have to explain anything to his friends or neighbours.  If not for that, he probably wouldn’t agree to this whole business.

As Christmas approached, the locators at 221b talked more and more, getting ready for pretending they’re in a relationship, which helped them get to know each other better. During the year of living together they knew a lot, but only now John noticed how many things they missed; how many topics they didn’t discuss.

Favourite movie, favourite book – that never seemed important. John was sure Sherlock wasn’t interested in anything but his work, while Sherlock easily noticed all those things and just didn’t think they were relevant. They quickly skipped that as soon as they realised that the family likely wouldn’t care about it. Mummy would rather ask:

“Where did you study?”

The men were occupying a little table at Angelo’s. Not the one they were sitting at that first night; this one was in the corner, where they wouldn’t be overheard.

John swallowed a bit of his risotto before answering.

“King’s College in London.“ His eyes wandered across his friend’s face. Sherlock was acting exactly as always: pensive, a bit annoyed, as if he was in his own world and didn’t want to sit here. And of course he wasn’t eating.

“What are you thinking about?” asked finally John, and Sherlock instead of replying only furrowed his brows. ”I can see you’re not listening to me at all.”

“Au contraire, John. I’m focusing to remember it all.”

John laughed and took a sip of water.

“I somehow cannot believe that someone with your brain needs to concentrate in order to remember a few facts from my life.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“My memory is good but selective. If someone is telling anecdotes, I don’t even bother with remembering it. Now it’s important enough that I’ve decided to make some special room.”

“You’re talking about your mind palace?”

Sherlock linked his fingers in front of his face.

“Why are you so surprised? It’s not like you didn’t know about it.”

“I just didn’t think I’d get a special place in there.”

The detective just smirked at the thought that went through his mind and he didn’t say out loud.

“Can you ask me questions? I want to check if I got everything right.”

It sounded as if Sherlock really wanted to go through his notes. In reality he was sitting at the table and leaning on his elbows looked at his friend, though John felt as if he was looking _through_ him.

“Place of birth?”

“London.”

“School?”

“King Edward VI Grammar School in Chelmsford.”

“Father?”

“Edward, a military man.”

“Mother?”

“Sophie, a nurse.”

“Siblings?”

“Harriet, your younger sister, gay, divorced, has problems with alcohol, has gotten out of rehab recently but you’re afraid she’ll go back there.”

John stopped eating and looked up at him.

“I didn’t tell you that last bit.”

Sherlock gave him the “you-really-didn’t-have-to” look and John sighed.

“Best friend from school?”

“Sebastian, he lived nearby, you played football together. You stopped talking after secondary school, he went into military, you went to high school and then medicine in college.”

“Career?”

“You worked at Broomfield Hospital and University College Hospital, then you moved to Bart’s, where you were trained to be an army doctor. In 2006 you were sent to Afghanistan, you came back three years later after being shot, left arm. Now you’re unemployed.”

The last sentence was a bit depressing to John, even if true. For a moment he stared at his plate and then he put down his fork and looked up.

“Sherlock,” he inhaled deeply. “Why do you need this? I can understand information about my parents and work, but do you really think your family will be interested in my sister’s sexuality or when did I see my friend from childhood?”

The answer was obvious.

“For a good lie we need as much details as we can have. If we’re to convince my parent that we’re in a long and steady relationship, we need to know a lot about each other.”

That made sense.

“So now it’s your turn. I just know your parents’ names and who is your brother. It’s not a lot.”

“You know they live in Sutton.”

“Right. I don’t know how long. You grew up there?”

Sherlock didn’t really want to talk about himself, but eventually decided to answer.

“Yes. Me and my brother went to school nearby. Only for college we managed to move to a bigger city.”

John nodded. “You liked it there?”

Sherlock sighed. “What does it matter? We were meant to be focusing on facts, my opinions aren’t relevant.”

“Of course they are. You think real couples don’t talk about feelings?”

“I’m not good at it.” He looked away. “Anyways, it’s not me who’ll be in the centre of attention, it’s you. Mummy will be telling you lots of stories, it’ll be easier for you to look interested if you won’t know them. Your acting skills are abysmal as they are…”

“Sherlock, stop talking shit.” John wasn’t hard to manipulate, but the longer he knew Sherlock, the easier it was to tell when he was just pretending being rude to distract someone. For a few seconds there was silence and then Sherlock gave in.

“No, I didn’t like it. I was bored, but they didn’t let me skip more than two years, because of my “emotional development”. I couldn’t wait to finish school.” He adjusted the watch on his wrist. “My father was an accountant, my mother a mathematician, though she mostly stayed at home. You know Mycroft so I won’t be talking about him. I didn’t have friends. When it comes to my university, I have a PhD in Chemistry, but I didn’t work as a chemist very long.” He looked up, hoping it would be the end of the topic.

“Don’t be mad. Remember that the pretending was your idea.” John sometimes felt as if he was talking to a kid. Sherlock smiled mockingly. He remembered which idea was that, but he was starting to regret. He moved his hands up his face and breathed deeply in and out.

“Right. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

John just finished eating. He put his cutlery down and shoved the plate aside.

“You can tell me about Mycroft and his wife’s situation.”

“That’s very easy. He works a lot, so he’s never at home. She’s had enough and moved out. Although I suspect that if he spent more time with her, she’d run away even faster.” Sherlock smirked. This whole situation seemed to be amusing for him.

_Believe me, living with you isn’t easier at all_. John sipped his water to stop himself from saying that out loud. He fished out his wallet and left money on the table.

“So, shall we go?”

Sherlock nodded. They had a bit more to do before the journey.


End file.
